


Creation of the Hunt

by MlledeLaRoseBlanche



Category: Fantasy Life - Fandom
Genre: Alchemy, Gen, Historical Fantasy, Hunters & Hunting, Magical Realism, Male-Female Friendship, Nintendo - Freeform, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:51:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlledeLaRoseBlanche/pseuds/MlledeLaRoseBlanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The miscellaneous adventures (and friendship) of two Castellians in Reveria, an up-and-coming Alchemist and a training Hunter…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Deal That Started It All

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone mentions about the Main Male's name, there is also a Porthos NPC in this game, just so you know.

_Schooling started at five years old, no matter when you were born in your fifth year. There we learned the basics of our history as Reverians and as Castellians. There were the myths of the Goddess of Lives; I liked those stories. We also learned reading, writing, math, geography; all the basics needed for our world. Then, for another six years, for six months at a time, the best students from local Masters would take over our teaching and we were exposed to the twelve Lives, to help encourage us to choose. The Masters only came once as a guest to the class at the end of each Life's trial period. It was only theories; histories of notable members, what the Life would entail, what our people would expect of us, the quality of goods, and the functions of trade. Of course, there were many stories of daring-do and successes, but we were also shown the dangers. No Life was without risk._

_Finally, in our sixteenth year, we received the aptitude test, which everyone was excited about. It was to help us decide on our first Life as new graduates. Funny how a bit of simple letter paper full of choice questions would aide in our decision. There were certainly other options beyond the twelve Lives, like pilots or merchants or farmers. Many of us worked in the local restaurants or taverns or shops for the extra Dosh in our pockets after school. Yet the Lives were considered so special, the great rite of passage in Reveria, and the goods and services they provided were so valued that it was expected we would choose one._

_I remember the result of my test, not for its helpfulness, but for its change in my life. My father was a cook; my mother, a tailor. They never made it far beyond an apprentice status and we did not live as well as others._

_“You should choose something useful,” she said, not looking up from restitching a seam for a customer. Her repairs were what drew her few customers._

_“Why would you be a Paladin? They are nothing but the King’s lapdogs; a pack of yapping cowards,” he said, limping over to the cauldron hanging over the fire and stiring its soupy contents. I remember a lot of soup and stew. I also remember how much they blamed the Paladins for their failures, laying their fate at the feet of these soldiers who had failed to protect them from the world’s dangers._

_Attacked when they had sought to gather their materials to satisfy their apprenticeship challenges, they failed to defend themselves downwind from a camp of Paladins. As a child, I was troublesome for these peacekeepers, running up and kicking their knees then disappearing into the crowded markets. As a youth, I learned that the Paladins were involved in a skirmish against some rebellious pirates from Port Puerto at that same time._

_Thus disillusioned, why am I not a Paladin? It is because I am a coward at heart too and I chose to hide. When I received my permission letter from the King at seventeen, I chose to be a Hunter._

    Despite the cream-coloured curtains over the glass panes, sunlight flooded the tiny attic room. A black cat with a white belly and muzzle mewed beside the bed, pawing impatiently at the green bedcover. The bed’s occupant rolled over and shoved their head beneath the pillow in hopes of blocking out all light and sound.

    “Go away, Margot,” said a muffled, female voice, a hand vaguely waving across the room. The cat leapt up on top of the mound, padded softly towards the covered head, and began to lick their mistress’s exposed neck.

    “Ugh, Margot! Get off!” Margot was shoved roughly to the end of the bed in a sudden movement as the young woman sat up, her honey brown hair fluttering about her face in static-charged wisps. She glared at her pet turning in circles at the end of the bed until it settled in a smooth, black ball, purring contentedly. She threw the coverlet aside roughly, the cat squawking in annoyance at being thus buried, standing and stretching with a tired groan. Looking to her left, she noted she had knocked over the candle in the night again. She never had been a gentle sleeper.

One day I am going to accidently set my room aflame, she thought as she picked up the fallen candle, placed it in the holder, and set it up next to the bed once more. She padded across the green Castele carpet to where she had thrown her Mermaid armour, a light blue armour of fish scales mounted on a white fabric made in the sea town of Port Puerto, and began gathering it together on her table from where she had dropped it about the room the night before. She had tossed her chain mail into a chair and toppled it, thus is needed to be righted. Her mail bottoms and navy tights were bunched together in a ball next to her bed and she extricated them from each other before she began to tug them on over her cotton shorts. Margot had removed herself from the messy bed and curled up in the rolled up, long sleeve navy shirt between the bed and a stand holding a quiver and bow.

The woman sighed and jerked it out from under the cat, who hissed and swiped a paw at her. She stuck her tongue out at the creature and went about shaking out the shirt to try and remove some of the irate feline’s hair. She tugged it on, her hair puffing out due to even more static, then jolted herself touching the scale-covered mail as she pulled it over her head and strapped on her belt about her waist. Her helm, white gloves, and shoes were hither and thither about the room, so tired had she been from returning from her hunting expeditions that she had hardly cared where they had landed. At least she had managed to keep on her amulet instead of throwing it too into an obscure corner of the attic room.

Finally dressed, she swung her pack over her shoulder, her quiver and bow across her back, and tucked her silver dagger into its sheathe on her belt. As she shuffled her clothes slightly for comfort, the tiny bell that hung near the door tinkled merrily.

“Mail delivery!” called a voice beyond the room. She turned to Margot.

“Are you coming, my princess?” she asked, opening the door. The cat, with tail arched, strode from the room as haughtily as any feline could. Her mistress only rolled her eyes and followed her out and down the narrow stairs to her mailbox at the bottom. Margot sat, licking her paw and wiping it over her ears as the woman peered at the letter she’d extracted from the box, scanning it carefully.

_Irene,_

_I need you to take the enclosed list to Master Flamel. I prefer to have superior quality items rather than what is sold to the populace by the General Goods store. Supplies are low and I do not have time to deal with it myself as I am speaking to students today._

_Fern_

Irene smirked slightly, imagining Fern, the serious Master Hunter and chief guard of the royal gardens, before a group of eager faces and none of which she had the desire to teach. Fern had said to her once that she had no interest in training either herself or Pete, the cocky layabout apprentice besides herself, but had done so anyway. One did not disobey King Erik’s rule after all, and it was the only way Fern would give new apprentices a chance to prove themselves worthy of her time.

Folding the letter back up, she returned it to the envelope and removed the list. Skimming it quickly, she found it was as Master Fern had said: a shopping list of potions the General Goods could not provide. With a sigh, Irene tucked the letter and the list into her pack, waving for Margot to follow her.

“Come along, my pet. It seems some shopping is our order for the day.” Castele Square was already bustling as children played, disturbing Gramps trying to snooze on his bench in the morning sun or the librarian Page sitting amongst his books on the other. The water in the fountain with the statue of the Goddess splashed merrily, and couples or pairs of women chatted together, seated on its edge. Margot hopped after a rogue butterfly and slipped, dunking a hind paw into the cold liquid. She yowled and kept close to Irene’s heels afterwards, almost tripping her at the top of the second set of stairs that brought them on the same level as the Paladin headquarters to their left and the Royal Library to their right, which was their destination.

Entering the library, Irene was very much aware of the mixture of scents that permeated the building. She had no need to ask the reception where she could find the Master Alchemist; she only needed to follow the lingering scent of acrid smoke and cooking materials. She walked into the lab, Margot padding softly behind her. Vials and beakers littered tables, and there was a constant sound of bubbling liquid. Two men were present: the younger very active at a work station, darting back and forth in controlled movements and seemingly very focused; the older was in the back behind a larger workstation covered in many alchemy tools she knew not the names of, occupied with his phial. He poured liquids together and gave them a good shake to mix them as she approached, and as she went to speak, there was a loud pop as the mixture produced black clouds between them.

“By Lunares, that stench!” cried Irene, proceding to cough and choke, waving her hand through the clouds. Margot hacked and sputtered. The man simply burst out a great, pleased laugh.

“Finally an explosion worth waiting for! Now, to make it even bigger!” He turned to the shelf behind filled with various labelled pots, grabbing several and tucking them into his arm.

“Master Flamel?” Irene asked, wiping at her tearing eyes. The man ignored her, muttering to himself frantically as he ground plant material into fine fragments and measured powders. She reached out to tap his shoulder and was slapped away.

“Not now, can’t you see I’m busy?” he snapped without turning to face her.

“Master Flamel, I come with a request from Master Fern,” Irene blurted out quickly, trying to take advantage of his brief moment of noticing her presence.

“Take whatever it is to Beaker. I don’t have time for Fern’s boring requests.” Irene stepped back with a doubtful look as an almost manic look crossed the man’s face, taking Margot by the scruff to drag her away from trying to pounce on some string dangling from Flamel’s lab coat. Unsure of who Beaker could possibly be, she approached to the younger man, who seemed just as focused as Flamel, but nowhere near as manic.

“Pardon me,” she began, “but are you--”

“One moment, please,” he said, cutting her off and shaking his phial almost frantically for a few moments then setting it down to stare at it. Its contents glowed then changed colour from red to a sparkling green.

“Another Superior Hi-Health potion! This is becoming far too easy,” he declared proudly, making a mark in an open book on the table before him. He poured the potion in a long-necked flask, stuffed a cork in the top, and then placed it in an empty space of a compartmentalised crate amongst many other potions. He turned to face her at last, peering at her through protective goggles.

“How can I help you?” He was a little shorter than her, dressed all in purple from head to booted feet save for the long, black cape. His chocolate brown hair was pulled back in a low tail on his neck and she hazarded a guess that his eyes were hazel, from what she could see through the goggle glass.

“Are you Beaker?” she asked. He blinked at her bemusedly and she had the brief wonderance about his sanity when he began to laugh.

“No, I am afraid not. He is,” said the young man finally, pointing towards a slightly elevated area with a wall mounted chalkboard separated by a banister railing from the rest of the room. An orange, tropical bird was seated on the railing, watching them with curious tips and turns of his pointed head.

“He won’t be any use to me for what I want,” said Irene, shaking her head.

“Perhaps I can help. My name is Athos.” He offered her his hand and she shook it firmly and quickly.

“And I am Irene. I have a list here from my Master, and since yours refuses to look at it, maybe you would be more inclined to assist.” Athos took the offered paper, lifting off his goggles and setting them on his head.

“From the look of this and you, it must be for Master Fern, right?” he posed, gesturing to her weapon. She nodded, folding her arms and tossing back her head.

“Indeed. How long will this take?”

“All right, straight down to business, then,” he grinned, shaking his head slightly before perusing the list again. “I would say… perhaps an hour?”

“Very well,” she replied, crossing her arms. “I suppose I can look in the library for a bestiary while I wait--” She was interrupted by Beaker giving a loud, indignant squawk as Margot leapt at his perch, claws unsheathed and paws batting. Irene ran over and grabbed her by the scruff mid-flight as she attempted another leap at the poor bird, pulling the wiggling body close.

“Margot, that is not something for you to chase!” she exclaimed. Beaker landed nervously on the round knob of the railing’s newel post, extending a wing and beginning to preen the ruffled feathers back into place.

“Sorry about that,” she puffed, Margot finally settling huffily in her arms. “This blasted cat will chase anything that moves if able.”

“That’s quite alright,” said Athos, chuckling. He came over and reached to scratch the black feline’s ear. She began to purr, pressing her head into his hand. “Margot, I believe you called her?”

“Yes. So, you will be done in a hour, right?” Athos sighed and slid his goggles back down onto his nose.

“Yes, yes, I said I would, and I shall.”

“Good. Thanks.” She turned and left, eager to escape the potent scents that felt like they were burning her nostrils. You owe me for this, Fern. Carrying her beast, she left the Alchemy lab and turned right to follow the carpet runner that led into the library proper, a two level room with shelves lined with innumerable volumes, red, cloth-covered stools seated around a circular table, and two large lecterns as tall as her that comprised of the library’s catalogue. There was also another table tucked in the corner laden with fossils and a telescope in another corner gathering cobwebs. Irene climbed the stairs to the empty second level and browsed the shelves, deciding on a book about the Elderwood forest creatures she located on the far end of the second level. Margot mewed, leaping up on to the railing, and a scholar below shushed her violently. Margot washed a paw, swiped it over her ear then trotted back along the railing until she was just above the scholar who was now absorbed in his study. Irene looked up from her reading just in time to see Margot’s haunches wiggling, her legs bent and reday to spring, and had no chance to stop her. She threw the book down and ran to grab the cat, only to flail and miss, almost throwing herself over the railing.

“Argh! Get this beast off of me!” screamed the scholar as Margot landed on his head, digging her claws in as he stood and flailed, toppling his mountain of books. These spilled off the table and he tripped over his stool, falling back as Margot finally left from his head and sprinted out of the room. Irene gave chase, offering a hasty apology to the man who sat up dizzily, his glasses askew.

“Hold it now, hunter, is this your foul beast?” demanded the receptionnist, holding Margot tightly by her scruff.

“Yes, she is, and you have no right to treat her so violently,” declared Irene. “Give her to me at once.”

“As soon as the both of you are outside!” said the man, taking her arm and dragging her to the door.

“What are you doing? Get off!”

“Paladin! Open this door!” called the receptionnist. The soldier outside did as bid and Irene found herself shoved to the ground beyond the portal, Margot tossed onto her back shortly afterwards.

“If you wish to frequent the library, return without your wretched animal. We do not tolerate such disturbances here in a place of study!” He slammed the door as Irene rolled over to face him, Margot hopping off her to sit in the grass.

“You’re nothing more than a pathetic Woolie!” she yelled, tossing a rock at the door irritably. How she wished she was out in the East Grassy Plains, chasing down some of the white wool-covered, bleeting creatures with their long, curved, upright horns like a unattached circle.

“Miss, if you continue this, I will have to ask you to move along,” said the soldier by the door. She glared at him and stood, biting her tongue and brushing herself off. Margot stretched in the sunlight, her tail flicking up into the air. She moved to the nearby set of wide stone steps and sat. Drawing her silver dagger, she used it to reflect a spot of sunlight on the ground for Margot to chase and pounce upon, a better distraction than causing such trouble. She became so involved in amusing the feline, she started when someone touched her shoulder.

“Are you too busy to receive your order?” asked Athos with a smile. He smelled faintly of smoke and herbs. She could detail him better in the sunlight. His face was faintly smudged, likely from his master’s constant explosions, and she thought she could see faint purple circles beneath his eyes. The gold buttons on his cap appeared a bit dull, likely in need of a polish, and his collar was faintly spotted with stains from his mixtures.

“Hardly. Did you remember everything?” she asked, standing. Margot blinked up at her two steps down, confused as to why Irene was no longer playing with her. Athos offered the woman a basket full of corked, long-necked, round-bottomed phials, all of their contents gleaming with their purity. Two sacks, small enough to carry together in one hand, sat next to him on the grass. She took one phial and held it up to the sunlight, examining the contents with narrow eyes.

“You doubt my work?” he asked her, making the faintest of pouts. She offered him a half-smirk, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

“No, I only wished to examine its quality. You do good work.” He took the phial back from her, smiling.

“Thank you. Now, about payment--” he paused as she began to frown. “Would I be wrong in guessing Master Fern did not give you the funds with which to pay for her supplies?”

“Guessing would be too much,” said Irene. She bit her lip. “How much are we discussing here?”

“Well, each of the Superior Hi-Health potions is 370 Dosh. The antidotes for poison, stunning, and sleep are 120 Dosh, 160 Dosh, and 200 Dosh each respectively.” She counted the bottles, twenty-four in total, six of each type.

“Then we have the stock of mini bombs, each one coming in at 300 Dosh.” He gestured to the larger of the two sacks and her heart sank into her stomach, imagining at least thirty in the bag.

“Finally, there is the small set of Sleep bombs, a new purchase for her from the records, and they are 800 Dosh each.” This bag was the smallest, but Irene could still see it held a fair amount. She swallowed in a effort to clear the lump from her throat.

“What is the total?” she asked, hoping to keep the quaver from her voice. Athos held out her list with a look of apology.

“What I charge is consistent with the prices in the stores,” he mentioned. Irene looked down at the bottom of the paper where he had totaled the calculations and forced her jaw not to drop. _26,100 Dosh? For potions?_ She drew her coin purse from her belt wordlessly, untying the strings and kneeling to count the Dosh on the grass. She could feel him watching her and the back of her neck burned with embarassment. She was 15,000 short.

“I have 11,100,” she said, looking up into what seemed to be a pitying gaze. “What will this get me?” He sighed, setting down the basket.

“The basket and twenty mini bombs. Listen, this has happened before with another apprentice of your Master. She has a habit of forgetting to leave enough money to cover her expenses.”

“I cannot go back to her without all of her order,” said Irene. Margot approached the basket, stood on her hind legs to brace against the edge then stuck her head in to sniff its contents curiously. Irene pushed her away half-heartedly.

“Why do we not make a deal?” offered Athos. “We will go to the school to talk with your Master about this money issue then you will accompany me on an expedition to replenish the ingredients I used to make the order instead of paying me this time.”

“I suppose I can accept that,” she replied with a frown. She tucked every last piece of gold carefully into her purse, reattached it to her belt then offered her hand to him to shake and seal their arrangement.


	2. The Hunters' Prejudice

The school itself was in fact a part of the merchants quarter in Castele and was actually an old manor house tucked back off the main cobblestone road. It was large, as was typical of any manor house worth its name, with whitewashed outer walls and two towers on either side of the building front. Its four peaked roofs in the center, as well as those on the conical towers, were covered with black shingles, and windows dotted the front facade. Irene paused outside on front door on the trampled dirt path, looking up at the tall central structure, which had at least three floor, the top of which had a small balcony railing upon which one could lean out the window. The first floor was for the beginner’s school, the second floor for the Life sessions with the older students, and the third had always been empty for as long as she knew. No students had been allowed up into the third floor as it was allowed only to the school’s headmaster as their living space and work quarters, but according to the teachers, there had not been a headmaster at the school for many a year since the previous one had retired. It was as if the King had simply forgotten about the fact and had never appointed a new one.

 _I wonder if the rumours about someone living there now are true_ , she thought as she considered the third floor windows. Margot mewed down by her ankle and stood on her hind legs to rest her front paws on Irene’s knee. Athos had gone ahead of her without waiting, leaving one of the double doors wide open.

“Come on, Margot,” she muttered as she stepped forward. She had little patience for scattered people, and if the alchemist was one of them then she might shoot him on their travels and bury him so as not to deal with him. She closed the door behind her with a snap and began to mount the stairs two at a time with long strides, Margot leaping ahead of her agilely. They found Athos outside of the classroom, leaning against the wall next to the door.

“Here I thought you had gotten lost!” he stated with a teasing smile. “It certainly brings back memories being here, does it not?” Irene said nothing, folding her arms over her chest and waiting. The cat sat next to her, licking her paw and proceeding to swip it over its ear several times. Athos sighed and, watching the Hunter from the corner of his eyes, turned and tapped the door with his knuckles. _Like Master, like Apprentice I suppose. Still, why are they such prickly people?_

The upperclass’s teacher was not present as it was the beginning of the six-month instruction on the Hunters guild. Dressed in her usual brown tunic and white shirt cinched at the waist with a strip of brown leather, Fern was at the front by the blackboard and, from the general lackluster attention of the students, she was not a very engaging orator. She had not even chosen to remove her round, brown cap, a statement of her intentions not to stay particularly long. Pete, or ‘Huntin’ Pete’ as he preferred to be called, stood back shuffling awkwardly in his blue overalls, unwilling to interrupt the Master despite how poorly she made their guild appear. Irene shook her head, eyes closed as if the sight of the inept, lazy farmhand standing there caused her pain. Lucky, Fern’s loyal dog companion, lay on the floor nearby, hiding his white muzzle under equally white paws.

“Pardon my interruption, Master Fern, but might I borrow you for a moment?” Athos called, breaking the students’ stupor unexpectedly. Those who had been holding their chins in the hands nearly fell forward on to their desks at the sound of a new voice and all the students spun to see who had liberated them. Fern blinked for several moments at the pair standing in the open door then waved to Pete dismissively.

“Go on and begin the lessons,” she muttered, slinging her quiver and bow over her shoulder and making her ways towards them. Lucky leapt to his paws and trotted down behind her in the isle between the desks. Irene just knew that those children were reaching out and brushing his black fur as he passed. The five of them stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind them as Huntin' Pete began his lecture, if one could give his vapid bragging such a title. Lucky crouched playfully in front of Margot, who seemed to give the most disdainful look a cat could muster and leapt up onto a window sill to continue cleaning herself. Fern tucked the ends of her long, orange bangs to one side behind an ear, folded her arms over her front, and regarded first the Alchemist then her apprentice slowly with her dirt-coloured eyes.

“What do you need me for exactly?” she asked. Athos cleared his throat and offered her a half-smile.

“You have a habit of forgetting to give your apprentices the money they need to pay for your orders, Master Fern,” he said. “This is the fourth time in five months.” Fern’s mouth gave an unconscious twitch, but she did not reply.

“However, your apprentice Irene-” here he gestured to the equally silent Hunter who had come to stand just behind and to the left of him, “and myself have reached an agreement. She will accompany me the next time I go to gather supplies to make up for the rest of the purchase. I expect you will reimburse her for what she spent on your behalf, yes?” Irene swallowed back the hard lump in her throat as Fern narrowed her eyes at her. Although the two of them did not get along, Irene still respected the Hunter Master to some degree otherwise she would have changed Lives much sooner in her training rather than continue to tolerate her rather frosty attitude.

“Certainly, it will be no trouble whatsoever,” replied Fern aloofly. “Irene, you may head out as soon as this Alchemist is ready to leave. Make sure you register your travel plans with me for once before taking off.” Irene bit the inside of her cheek and said nothing. It as a safety measure for every apprentice to have to register their itineraries with their Masters, but Irene had a disdain for the task that bordered on hatred. She liked to lose herself in her hunts; she liked to disappear and imagine never being found again. She had no desire to protect the Royal Gardens, much like Fern who had been abandoned in a sense by her Master Fletcher, and instead of passive-aggressive response like the bitter Hunter Master, she rebelled against the security of the system. Fern allowed a small smirk to slip through her cool facade, bid good day to Athos, and left with the reluctant Lucky, who whined as he was forced to leave behind the new friend he had tried to make. Margot hissed at him as he left, the fur on her back still half-raised.

"Well, that was productive," remarked Athos with a scoff. "There is no need to be so cold to people who are only trying to help."

"Leave her alone," snapped Irene. "What right do you have to judge us?" She clenched her fists at her sides to keep from breaking those ridiculous round glasses balanced on his rather dainty nose.

"By Lunares, why are all of you Hunters so ruddy difficult?" he exclaimed. "I have done nothing against you!" While never expicitly stated, there was a hierarchy underlining the Life system based on the honour perceived with it. While there were class divisions of Fighters, Artisans, and Harvesters, there was also further divisions within those categories and even between them. Hunters were not well-approached, considered unwanted loners or cowards. Paladins protected the Royal Family, Mercenaries were ruthless warriors ready for battle, and Magicians were desired in order to grow their population in Castele; the Hunters' position as the Guards of the Royal Gardens in Castel made them a joke. Whereas Alchemists were considered the pinnacle of the Artisan class, well-respected by many of the other guilds for their skills, with even some debate on including the Alchemy guild as Harvesters as well as Artisans, making them the only guild with two designations (even if only unofficially).

"Just keep your comments to yourself," she said sharply. "Not all of us have the exquisite aptitudes for being the ultimate Artisans."

"There is no need for that sort of talk. Alchemists are no more valuable than Hunters or Blacksmiths or Fishermen!"

"At least we do not smell as bad as being covered with the stink of mixtures or working with an explosive maniac!" Athos narrowed his eyes at her and frowned.

"What has gotten into you? It's as if a colony of Worker Bees were chasing you across the East Grassy Plains."

"What is the matter with me is that I am stuck working with a scatterbrained fool of an Alchemist like yourself!"

"Now see here--"

"I will see you at the exit to the East Grassy Plains in a day and I will not wait for you. If you don't show then our deal is off and you can try to get your money from the King!" Irene snatched up Margot, who yowled in violent protest, and stomped away before Athos could manage to get in another word. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched her leave and flinched hearing the door slam on the first floor. He did not need to have to add 'buy a new school door' to his list of tasks to do before he left the city. He returned to the stairs, reassuring curious teachers about the disturbance as he passed them, and climbed the stairs to the third floor. He unlocked the quarters at the top of the steps and entered, locking the door behind him. He leaned his back against the wood with a heavy sigh and looked about the first room.

It was sparsely furnished. He kept a desk here just underneath a window to allow for sunlight, but there was also an unused candle in a candlestick on the desktop for if he had the desire to work at night. Tucked in the corner was his Alchemist trophy, a giant clear phial with a greenish glow set onto a gold pedestal, awarded as the mark of attaining the Life’s Master rank. He pushed himself off the door and hung his hat on the hatstand. Then, after removing his goggles from atop his head, the cape about his neck, and the belt with his dagger from his waist and hanging them up as well, he passed into his sleeping quarters. His bed was tucked into the corner, the head space turned out away from the narrowing area of the slanted ceiling. He had left his wardrobe open that morning, in a hurry to test a new theory at the Alchemy laboratory, and a few articles of clothing were on the bottom, hanging out of it as if they were trying to escape after a long imprisonment. He walked over, sat on the bed, nudged his boots off with his toes, and flopped back on to the mattress. He did not realise it when he fell asleep until he awoke some time later, jolting upright with a gasp. He looked left and right and caught sight of Lunares high, round and white in the sky through his narrow, open window. _Wait, open window?_

He bent down, eyes glancing around warily as he picked up his boot, his nearest weapon at the present moment. He could not see anyone in the room and the silvery light of Lunares filtered in and spread in a wide swatch across the wooden floor.

“You look like you could use even more sleep,” said a voice above him. He looked up sharply to see a small white butterfly flitting about the open rafters and sighed in relief.

“Yuelia, please do not scare me like that,” he said weakly. “I thought you were a bandit. I could have squashed you!” The butterfly floated down on its gossamer wings and hovered in place a short distance from the bed for a moment or two before it was swept up in a white glow, a young girl’s form replacing the insect body. Some of her white-blond hair hung down in long tails alongside her face and bushy bangs framed her forehead and eyes elegantly while the rest of her hair was likely tucked back in her snowy-white cap. Blue eyes regarded him worriedly from her pale features as she leaned forward on her knees, hands pressed against the blue fabric panel on the front of her long-sleeved robe. He wondered how she tolerated wearing the thing all the time when it was so thick and heavy-looking. Even in the stage of their travels as they explored Al Maagik and its desert regions, she had never changed for something cooler. Then again, maybe her butterfly transformation helped prevent overheating.

“Something is troubling you greatly,” she frowned, appearing puzzled. “Are you still struggling with the ultimate creation?” Athos offered her a half-smile.

“It is given to those of Hero rank for a reason, my friend. Won’t you sit down?” Yuelia nodded and looked around for a place to sit, finding only the space next Athos, which she took.

“Have you no table or chairs?” she asked curiously, folding her hands in her lap. Athos laughed and shook his head.

“No, I spend so little time here that I never bothered decorating it with anything extra.”

“You never wear the clothes the King gave you.” Trust Yuelia to notice this. He glanced over at the wardrobe. It was the white sleeve of his Doctor’s robe that was poking out. He had likely hurriedly thrown the clothes into the wardrobe without a second thought after receiving them and then returned to his work. He was so close to becoming a Legend; he had no time to be concerned about his attire so long as it allowed him to move and afforded him decent protection when he was gathering materials.

“I am afraid I had not thought of them.” Yuelia reached over to pat his hand with hers gently then resettled them in her lap.

“How are your travels treating you?” he asked, smiling. “Have you heard many more wishes?” Her eyes brightened as she began describing the latest true wishes she had heard from various Reverians old and young. Some were as simple as wanting a new stuffed toy for their birthday; some were more complicated such as wanting to pass on one’s collected wisdom to their grandchildren. As she spoke, he went into the next room to write a letter. By the time she finished, Athos was in a half-daze of sleepiness, pinching his inner elbow with his fingernails to keep himself awake. Yuelia stopped talking, giving a contented sigh as she stood and helped Athos back into bed, pulling the bedclothes up to his chin. Once he drifted off, she took the letter from his desk, tucked it into a pocket in her robe, and transformed herself back into a butterfly with a brilliant glow that did not reawaken the sleep-deprived Alchemist. She fluttered out through the open window, letting the warm, summery air blow through, and made her gentle way to the post office to mail his letter.


	3. Al Maagik Awaits!

Because of Yuelia’s interference and the rapidity of Castele’s postal service, the pair of them did not leave until three days later. Athos suspected that Irene had not been pleased to receive that letter, even if he had apologized for her misunderstanding, but he hoped that perhaps she had calmed down between their dispute and receiving it. He had informed the school staff during their meeting that he would be away on an expedition and had prepared many supplies in the Alchemy lab, the highest quality potions and cures in order to be ready for any contingency, and carefully stowed them in his pack, each one wrapped with a scarf to keep them from breaking against each other.

The day was bright and hot when he left the school. Shielding his eyes with the brim of his cap, he looked up at it, as he did every day, and gave a relieved sigh as it was not being eaten away by the darkness of an eclipse. Despite what Professor Hugh, the King’s chief advisor, had said, Athos would never be able to consider an eclipse again without a shudder of fear. After all, such trauma could be expected when you help save the world from evident destruction, even if no one in the general populace really knew the whole story. How many would believe that they had ridden the airship of the great Goddess of Lives herself and had flown to Lunares to meet the God of it himself?

Shaking his head, he began his walk to the south of the city and the exit to the West Grassy Plains. Now, he had no intention of walking the whole way and he was not particularly adept at riding a horse, which left only the airship dock with its great balloon ships to take them all the way to Al Maajik. He only needed to retrieve his companion. Having no notion of where she lived, his only clue was to meet her at the departure point she had set. It took him longer than expected to cross the packed market, meaning that the Mercenaries and Anglers had to have brought in fresh stock for the stalls and the people were out in droves to get the freshest pieces, particularly the Cook apprentices trying to impress Master Alfredo. He never understood how the students could tolerate wearing shallow pots on their heads as part of their beginning attire, especially when he was continued beaten by them any time one should turn their head.

The main square in front of the castle was quieter. He could see the librarian with his stacks of books seated on his habitual bench. There were children running around and tourists from Port Puerto examining the fountain in which sat the statue of the Goddess. He left the main square and passed by Meg’s Homes; the rental office for the city of Castele run by a jolly lady whose business was her namesake. However, he had no time to stop in and bid her good morning. He trotted out the large, open front gates, past the posted Paladins on guard duty, past the stable where anyone with a rank over Fledging was able to borrow a horse for a small fee. His feet carried him down the yellow, cobblestone-paved path to the city limits where the roads became beaten earthen trails and he moved further on into the glade that separated the city from the beginning wilderness.

Seated on the small wooden bridge overlooking a glittering stream, he saw Irene with Margot, who was busy trying to swipe at the tiny fish in the water and shaking her paw whenever it should get wet. Dressed in her blue Mermaid Armor with bow and quiver slung over her shoulders one way and her pack worn in the opposite direction, she seemed calm and prepared, which was a much better attitude than during their previous parting.

“Good morning,” he huffed, smiling as he came up to them. She stood, not bothering to brush herself clean of any accumulated dust and folded her arms. Athos stopped smiling at once.

“It’s about time you arrived. I never figured that you Alchemists were incapable of telling time, but that seems to be the case.” He bit his tongue hard to resist snapping back. His tolerance would only take so much abuse.

“I thought we could take a faster way to get to Al Maagik. It’s better than walking the whole way and we can finish our task that much sooner.” She sighed irritably, and reached up to scratch under her scaled helm.

“Lead on then. How are we going to get to Al Maagik, oh wise one? Horses?” Athos shook his head and gestured for her to follow him.

“Something much quicker than that. Come on.” He did not hear her behind him, but glancing back assured him that she was right there with Margot marching at her heels. It must be part of the Hunter training to learn to walk so lightly. He led her back into South Castele from the outskirts then turned left to continue past the stable and the airport with its sole, rickety plane. He led them up the hill past the Angler Master’s home and the Chapel, which was festooned this day with ribbons and flowers in celebration of a wedding. Upon sighting the airship dock, he felt her grab his arm at the elbow and jerk him to a halt.

“You want to take an airship to Al Maagik?” she demanded, her eyes wide and cheeks pale.

“Why yes, of course,” he replied in confusion, which quickly turned to a teasing tone as he continued. “Don’t tell me one of Castele's great Hunters is afraid of heights?”

“No, absolutely not. I have no problem with flying,” she protested. “I’m only concerned about having enough money for this blasted expedition of yours.”

“If it will ease your concerns then allow me to pay for you and Margot,” he offered. Evidently, this turned out to be the wrong things to say as she brought her face in close to his, snarling.

“I do not need your charity,” she growled. “And I was not asking for it.” She shoved him aside and marched ahead of him, mounting the stairs up to the dock two at a time with Margot leaping along in her wake. Athos sighed, righted his hat, and trotted after her. He found her waiting in the queue at the ticket counter, arms crossed and expression thunderous, and decided it would be best to join the end of the line instead of trying to secure a spot with her. There was only one other person in front of him and once they both had tickets; they sat silently on nearby benches side by side. Margot sat between Irene’s feet, cleaning her ears with a dampened paw. Irene leaned forward on her knees, reaching down with one hand to unconsciously scratch at one of Margot's ears. Athos leaned back, tipping his head up to rest on the upper edge of the bench and stare at the sky.

"I am sorry for offending you. I was only trying to help," he said, without looking at her.

"Just don't do it again," she warned without much threat in her tone. He waited for a return apology for her overreaction, but when none came, he lifted his head and frowned at her. She avoided his gaze, staring down at the cobblestone floor of the dock. He opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by the chopping sound of propellers above them as a new airship circled to enter the dock.

"Al Maagik! Passengers bound for Port Puerto and Al Maagik on _The Clipper_ are asked to line up now!"

"That's us," remarked Athos over the noise. "Best hold on to your pet unless you want her left behind." The crowd was thick with Port Puertons eager to return their white, sandy beach-side city and some Castellians packed for a lengthy voyage. Irene scooped up Margot under her front legs then bundled her in her arms. Margot, however, was not content in being held on this warm day and squirmed in her grip until she was able to climb up and balance herself across Irene's shoulders, claws digging into the narrow chainmail loops under the scaly armour. They joined the entering line, which was roped separately from the exiting side, and waiting as the ship landed and the passengers disembarked. Margot meowed in her ear and she reached up to scratch her shoulders.

"Calm, girl, just a little further." The gangway was lowered and the new passengers streamed on, dividing to either climb or descend the decks. Packs and luggage were stored in net hammocks hanging from the ceiling over the rows of stiff-backed wooden benches that were attached to the floor so they would not slide around and dump the passengers. Athos took the seat nearest the porthole, looking out at the water which was clearly within view from their place on the lower deck. Margot leapt off Irene's shoulders, turned in a circle, and curled up in the spot between the two travellers, her black tail covering her nose. Irene shed her bow and her pack, swinging them up into the hammock. She looked at Athos, gesturing her hand to his pack, to which he shook his head. He did not entirely trust that his preventive measures for protecting his products when they would be jostling around amongst her hunting gear. She hooked the netting onto the ceiling hooks to close up the luggage area then sat back down, tapping her fingers feverishly against the arm and crossing and uncrossing her feet.

"Are you sure you are alright?" he asked, leaning over to make himself heard over the surrounding chatter. "You seem nervous."

"I'm fine," she said stiffly. He dared not push further and sat back when the ship's body began to rumble as the propellers started up, focusing his attention on the window to watch the shrinking world. Margot awoke, stretched, and sat up, her tail flicking and ears swivelling.

 _Why did it have to be flying?!_ Irene tensed herself, gripped tightly to the bench arm, her nails digging into the wood. Margot was no better, yowling once the ship really began to shake beneath her, black fur standing on end all over her stiffened body and claws buried in the hard, wooden bench seat. The Hunter shot a glare at the Alchemist, who was too busy staring with wonderment out the window to be disturbed. _Damn you, you ridiculous little Caterpillow_. She hated flying; she saw no point in taking one’s feet off the ground at such heights when you could perfectly well travel across it with equal speed. She had never even attempted the travel to the newly discovered region of Terra Nimbus, where it was rumoured that the monster hunting was the greatest challenge therein since it was described as a flourishing jungle of vegetation and heat. The wind could whip you right off the floating islands if you took too long, and although one would expect the prey to be simple due to lack of contact with people, this was not the case. The monsters were vicious and one could only wonder how the Plushlings were able to thrive in such a dangerous environment.

The airship shook and Irene squeaked fearfully before she could stifle it. The captain shouted down the tube speakers that they were experiencing a little storm turbulence, reassuring them all that they would pass through it momentarily. Margot gave a loud screech then hissed vehemently as the ship jerked around hither and thither in the stormy winds. Irene closed her eyes and tried to swallow an oncoming nausea, feeling her ears pop with the altitude. If this did not stop soon, she might embarrass herself and her Guild. She felt something on her shoulder and peeked open an eye, turning her head stiffly to look. Athos had leaned over the tense cat and was offering her a triangular vial of pale yellow liquid.

“Panacea,” he told her loudly in order to make himself heard over the turbulence. “It’ll help with the illness. Trust me.” She could not decide between whether to glare at him or thank him. She settled on a neutral expression and said nothing, lifting her trembling hand from where it had been digging into her kneecap and trying to take the vial. Yet, every time she lifted her hand, the ship would shake and creak and she would grab back at her knee or the bench seat in a panic. Athos took pity on her, much to her chagrin and shame, removing the cork from the potion then bringing the vial down closer to her hand so she could take it before another rumble threw them around.

“ _Apologies for the delay, but we are now landing in Port Puerto. Departing passengers, please remember to take all belongings. Anything left behind will be returned to Castele’s lost and found items and can be reached by post or in person. We ask that passengers take care disembarking and stay safe. The storm is nasty!_ ” There was activity about them once the ship touched the water and people staggered with the swaying motion. Trunks slid into the aisles to be chased by their owners and little children wailed. Irene shakily brought the vile to her lips, downing half of the ailment cure-all in one pull. Her ears still stung and the buttery taste of the potion on her tongue was doing nothing for her illness. Margot had crouched down on all fours, ears swivelling warily and eyes very round.

“It will take effect momentarily,” said Athos with a gentle smile. “I wish you had told me how bad you are with flying. I would have decided on a different route.”

“Shut up,” she spat, her face flaming with embarrassment. “Your pity is not wanted.” She shoved the remaining potion back towards him in a fit of indignation.

“Take this disgusting stuff. I don’t need it.” Athos sighed and did as asked, not seeing the reluctance that passed over her face as he corked it and stored it away in his pack again. She was looking away from him when he glanced up and he turned back to the porthole that was being slapped by the churning water. The ship took off again shortly afterwards, having taken on the few determined passengers who had waited. Margot hissed, ears flattened back and fur fluffed out, still crouched down on the bench seat. Irene whimpered and squeezed her eyes tight shut. Athos covertly watched them both from the corner of his eye, even once they reached the edge of the inclement weather as they turned towards Al Maagik.

The landing here was much smoother and those disembarking here left the ship in an apparent daze. Irene shakily descended the gangway on to the port with her arm wrapped around Margot’s middle and the cat’s teeth trying to sink into her arm through the armour. Athos followed close behind carrying her pack and bow. She staggered away from the port and made her way towards the pool of water in the centre of Al Maagik’s Outskirts where travellers looked on as she dropped her cat, removed her helmet, dunked her head in the water and held it there. Margot had been released and was calmly lapping at the sun-warmed liquid. Athos set aside her gear and grabbed her shoulders, wrenching her upright and soaking his boots for his trouble.

“Are you alright?” he asked, tilting his head left and right to look at her in different angles. With her hair obscuring her face, it was hard to tell what sort of mood she was in. However, when she smacked his hands away with the back of her hand, he felt mildly reassured that she was back to her bitter, impatient self.

“I would be better without some Alchemist grabbing me,” she spat, using one hand to swing her dripping hair back behind her head, spraying him with droplets and whipping him with the occasional strand. She jammed her helmet back on her head, went to the pillar where he had left her things, and proceeded to shoulder both weapon and pack.

“Let’s head for the desert then.”

“Not so fast, I’m afraid. I want to pay a visit to the Dark Sultan.”

“Are you mad?” Irene’s eyes were round as marbles. “I swear, you are trying to see me killed before the day is out! Is this why we have so few Hunters? Because you damn Alchemists hire us out for your protection only to feed us to your crazed spellcasting friends?”

“Oh, will you shut up for once in your life!” Athos rounded on her with an angry expression and she took a step back, her jaw snapping shut. “Considering that your presumptions are based on ignorance, I will try to ignore them, but I assure you I have no intention of feeding anyone to any form of monster. By the Goddess herself, I am a healer! Why would I want to harm anyone, least of all someone who owes me a favour?” He spun on his heel and stomped away, leaving Irene to follow at her leisure. Margot wove around her legs, meowing up at her, and Irene frowned down at the attentive feline.

“Do I look like an Angler to you? You will just have to wait until we have a minute. Then I’ll feed you.” She marched after Athos as he headed towards a glowing circle on the opposite side of the Outskirts, Margot following closely behind. He stepped into the purple light and subsequently disappeared, and Irene left little time for thought as she plunged in after him only to run into his back and topple them both to the ground.

“What in the name of Reveria are you doing?” he demanded, scrabbling to get out from under her. After some wiggling, he freed himself and immediately set to examining his pack’s contents, scrupulously checking every vial.

“I didn’t expect you to just stand there on the other side of the Teleporter! Maybe if you had moved, this never would’ve happened!” Athos ignored her, hissing as his fingers came away bloody with a piece of broken glass then immediately began to close up as the green ooze coated them.

“Only a health potion,” he remarked, suddenly cheerful, “Nothing problematic.” Irene watched with morbid fascination as the skin on his cut fingers seamlessly stitched back together and smoothed out, as if the damage had never happened. He re-shouldered his pack and stood, offering his hand to pull her to her feet, which she did not accept. Athos rolled his eyes and walked away, passing the black-armoured guards without a second glance. Irene trailed after him with bow in hand and eyes darting. He led them towards an exit leaving Al Maagik Spelltown that brought them out onto a lengthy bridge illuminated by floating crystals that simply aided in casting longer, more menacing shadows. Irene regarded the tall fortress of the Dark Sultan Daemon Helbourne with its monstrous, garish tower and extended precipices that appeared to be modeled off of spiky Cacto arms. She swallowed audibly and slowly pulled an arrow from her quiver, notching it and drawing back the string in readiness. Margot bent into crouch, hissing.

“There is no need for that,” Athos assured, stepping in front of her with open hands raised. “Do I look worried to you?”

“You’re an Alchemist in a place known for its wizardry and mystics,” she said sarcastically, “Why should you be worried?” He had no answer for this for once, simply sighing and turning to walk them along the bridge. She smirked in a self-satisfied way and followed, slowed slightly by her hunching over her weapon. They entered the fortress without incident and even made it to the throne room without being stopped.

“These guards are ridiculous,” she muttered and Athos coughed, biting his lips to stop a smile.

“Good day, Odin,” Athos greeted the tall, barrel-chested knight in thick black armour who regarded the trio silently. He did not speak, but only nodded to the young man. Irene did not like how his scrutinizing eye lingered on her or her cat and tightened her bowstring on reflex. Suddenly, there was a very long, very black broadsword in his hands, the square end of it tucked under her chin and pressed against her throat. Irene stood on the tips of her toes to avoid it, bow and arrow clattering to the ground next to her and afraid to breathe.

“Irene, whatever you do, do not move,” said Athos tightly, his hand outstretched as if to help, but unable to act.

“Odin, please, you have disarmed and terrified the girl,” said a soft voice in the back of the room that echoed in the empty space. “Let them pass.” The knight reluctantly pulled his sword away, but did not sheathe it, watching as Irene slowly bent to gather her items and Margot crept past.

“My thanks, Damien,” said Athos with a strained smile to the young man seated in the throne on the raised dais. “I am sorry for that. Irene has only heard all the nasty rumours about you. She really isn’t an assassin.”

“A Hunter can be just as dangerous as any Paladin or Mercenary,” growled Odin. Irene felt her neck grow hot in embarrassment. She certainly had been no threat here, even if she had meant to be one. She looked over the man, little more than a boy, who was so feared as the Dark Sultan. His purple hair was straight, short, and cut almost bowl-like around his face. His eyes were heavy with tired shadows and his face far too serious-looking. He was well-dressed in a purple jacket and short gold pants with gold wristlets. His long, black cape was worn under an elaborate gold gorget set with a large ruby and he sported a pair of purple, pointed Al Maagik shoes. Irene had no idea what to make of the young man who watched with a vague interest, head tilted to the side and resting against his fist.

“I am glad you come,” said Damien, nodding to Athos. “It has been a long time since your last visit and I do miss my friend.” Athos offered a sheepish smile, scratching at the back of his head.

“I’m sorry for the delay, but my studies—” Damien gave a quiet laugh hidden behind his hand and Athos stopped making excuses.

“What brings you to Al Maagik today?” he asked curiously, leaning forward. “Another great quest to undertake?

“Not so much,” replied Athos and Damien sat back with a mild look of dismay. “I require ingredients native only to the desert and the Ancient Ruins in order to continue my research. Being that it would be foolhardy to travel alone in such dangerous areas, I engaged Irene here to accompany me.”

“Perhaps you would care to add another to your party?” he asked slowly. “I have not set foot outside this fortress for many days and would love to test my skills.” Athos bit his lip, unsure. Reverian law dictated that questing parties may only have three members (including members’ pets) as a means of keeping larger, destructive bands from forming, and for the moment they met this rule. He turned to regard Irene with a frown then looked down at Margot, who was eying Damien’s black dog Cerberus with a wary air.

“Irene, would you be willing to leave Margot here for the time being?” he asked slowly.

“I don’t see why I should,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms. Athos took a deep breath and counted to five.

“You are here to repay a debt. Consider this part of that repayment,” he said. She considered him silently for a moment before replying.

“You play dirty, Alchemist,” she spat. Then she knelt down beside her cat, stroking her head and scratching her ears. Margot pushed her head into her gloved palm, purring.

“Margot, you must stay here,” she ordered with another scratch for good measure, but the cat had stilled and stopped purring. “Behave yourself.” Margot was quick to turn her back, her head thrown up proudly as she swaggered away. She leapt up onto a window sill and sat with tail dangling, the white tip occasionally twitching. Irene glared at Athos, who offered her a grateful look before returning his attention to the Dark Sultan.

“Damien, I would be honoured to ask you to accompany us on our quest.” The young man’s eyes lit up and he actually allowed himself the barest hint of a smile.

“Then let us not delay any further.”


	4. Thunder strikes the Aridian

Irene blessed her choice to wear her lighter armour considering the heat that battered them like a charging Taurus. She tried to wipe the sweat from her face with her palm, but recoiled as the warm metal links of the mail touched her skin. Even with water elements imbued into the armour, it was not enough to wholly combat the Aridian Desert sun. She squinted her eyes and observed her companions. Damien appeared unaffected by the sun as she panted alongside him while they trudged through the blistering sand behind a somewhat dazed Athos who was climbing a dune ahead of them to be able to see over the landscape. She felt a slight flash of pity as he staggered in his purple garb, but did her best to ignore it. He had forced her take an airship after all. 

“We are lucky,” said Damien in his soft voice. “There should not be any sandstorms today.” 

“How comforting,” she replied snarkily, notching an arrow and scanning their surroundings nervously. They had avoided a Killer Bee and dealt with a couple of Outlaws thus far, which was nothing out of the ordinary for the area, and her fingers were itching with the need to act. Damien padded his way up the dune and crossed his arms, standing over Athos as the Alchemist began digging up some healweed nestled between rocks. 

“Nothing like a little sunshine, right Irene?” called Athos, tucking the herbs into his pouch. Irene glared as she finally reached the top of the dune and he turned away, his smile wilting. 

“Come on, everyone,” he said sullenly, wiping at his florid face. “We’ll head up that cliff and see if there are any Pterodactyl eggs.” The cliff face had a flat, sloping path leading up onto a tall plateau from which one could catch a glimpse of a pointed, leathery wing flying overhead or hear the screech of the monsters above. The trio trod along the path with Athos in the lead. Damien was kept in the middle as Irene refused to have him behind her not only because of his reputation, but because he appeared unarmed. She shifted her arrow from the notch and used her free hand to pull a round globe of fresh water from her pouch and take a drink then poked Damien in the back with the end of her bow. He turned to face her, a hand raised in surprise, then paused as she shoved the globe-shaped bottle into his hand. 

“Drink. I would rather your bodyguard not slaughter me for your death by dehydration,” said Irene. Damien paused to drink and Irene glanced past him to see Athos disappearing around the end of the path onto the plateau. 

“My thanks, Irene was it?” said Damien, returning the empty bottle to her. She nodded and stuffed it haphazardly back into her pouch. He started up the path once more

“Why are out here with Athos, Irene?” he asked, glancing back at her. “You seem more like a lone wolf than a pack one.” 

“It is a service exchange,” she replied. “My Master owed Dosh for an order and I was drafted on this expedition in order to pay for the remainder of the cost.” Damien went to speak when above them Athos gave a yell and there was a loud screech. The Dark Sultan ran ahead and Irene glanced up to see a Pterodactyl fly up then dive down was a cry. She set her arrow and jogged up the remainder of the path. The monsters were taking turns diving at Athos between them. Around his feet were the smashed remains of some of their eggs and they were not happy about the theft and destruction. He was striking out at them with a curved Rogue’s Dagger as they passed him, but they managed to rake at his arms with their long claws and he was ailing fast. Irene loosed arrow after arrow, but their erratic circling ensured that she could not get a direct shot. Damien stayed back from the attack and glowed with a purplish light before unleashing magic without a rod to channel it like most wizards. A large, black ghostly hand grabbed the wing of one beast and dragged it to the ground where Irene shot an arrow into its forehead to end it swiftly. 

“Help!” Athos yelled as the second Pterodactyl lifted him from the ground by his shoulders. Damien began to charge his powers and Irene smacked his arm with her bow. 

“No don’t! You’ll kill them both!” Irene ordered. She set a Stun Arrow in her bow, took a steadying breath, aimed for the beast, and fired. The pair dropped like stones and Damien quickly used his powers to catch Athos before he hit the sand. The Pterodactyl lay broken and limp like a great toy on the ground. Irene spread out its long, leathery wing and hand Damien set Athos on top of it, resting his head against its body. 

“He’s not carrying his pack,” she remarked, kneeling next to him. “I’m no healer, but I can do something with what I have while you find it.” Damien nodded and began to head for the monsters’ nest while Irene removed Athos’ torn sleeves with her silver dagger. She then cut strips off the bottom of his cape, wet them with some of her stock of basic health potion and then began to wrap them around his arms. It was too dangerous to make him simply drink the potion, which would have allowed it to act faster, since he had yet to wake and likely would have choked on the liquid. Damien returned with Athos’ pack in hand and they began to paw through it to see what was still useable. The pack itself was soaked through. Most of the bottles had been broken in the attack any pooled contents that had yet to soak into the fabric gave off noxious fumes. They carefully removed a Superior Hi-Health Potion and a few Hi-SP Potion. Irene shoved of the blue potions at Damien and made him drink it. Magic users were always passing out from overextending their stamina and being that they were down a party member, it was better to maintain themselves. 

“Try and give the rest to Athos,” Damien insisted after drinking half of the potion. “Perhaps it will wake him.” 

“Too risky. Choking him with it won’t be any good. We’ll have to get him back to Al Maagik before--” She was drowned out by a loud, angry screech and turned to see the monstrous Thunderbird coming at them, crackling with electric fury. Irene went pale, swung Athos’ pack over her shoulder and across her body then bent down to partially lift the Alchemist onto her. 

“Grab him and come on!” Damien took his other shoulder and they began to stagger away from the dead monster as fast as they could with the giant yellow and black bird bearing down on them. 

“We cannot outrun it,” said Damien then suddenly froze, his face a picture of horrified surprise, and he had a slightly burnt smell. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded, tugging on both the young men as the giant bird’s shadow overtook them. Damien struggled to take a step and flinched, dropping to one knee. Irene jerked to the side as Athos was pulled over. The Thunderbird circled them, screeching menacingly, toying with them. 

“Come on, get up! Move!” She tried to pull the Dark Sultan to his feet, but Athos was sliding off her back and Damien moved like every gesture caused him pain. He gritted his teeth, tried to stand and fell down to both knees. 

“Oh forget it!” Irene draped Athos roughly over Damien who crouched prone on the ground. She went for her arrows when the bird dived at her, spinning like a top and bristling with lightning, and she threw herself to the side, rolling in the sand and almost off the plateau. She hurriedly swiped away the grit from her burning eyes and shot an arrow while lying on her stomach. It went wide, but caught the bird’s eye and it turned to face her from where it landed near Damien and Athos. Damien was struggling to stand up while bearing the Alchemist’s full weight, but he was making more headway than earlier. 

“Over here, you useless sack of feathers!” she yelled, scrambling to her feet and firing Stun Arrows into its plumage. They pinged off uselessly against the charged feathers, but it noticed the nuisance and lifted off to charge her. Damien was on his feet and stumbling to the path down from the plateau. She was too busy watching him and the bird rammed into her chest. She was flying backwards, flying farther as the Thunderbird beat its wings and blew her back more. The edge of the plateau came into her vision then it was far above her and everything hurt. The sun was too bright. Something was tugging at her one foot. The monster’s screeching rang in her ears and she watched it circle way above her. She waited for it to come down to finish her, but instead it flew off towards somewhere beyond her vision. 

“Irene!” Someone was calling her name and closed her eyes against the sunlight. Her shoulder was being shaken. She groaned and tried to move, but hardly moved. Something was dragging her yet she could not muster the energy to fight. 

“Wake up.” Someone forced her mouth open and poured something warm down her throat. She gasped and sputtered as the person sat her up and rubbed her back. 

“I am sorry Irene for that, but I need you to help me.” It was Damien next to her. She gazed at him blearily and he supported her as they stood up. He pressed a hand against her chest as she swayed forward and she gave a pained moan, closing her eyes. 

“Can you stay standing?” Irene nodded and Damien carefully pulled away. She followed him with her eyes and saw he had propped up Athos’ unconscious form against the side of the plateau. She could still feel her quiver on her back and Athos’ pack against her hip. Damien lifted Athos under the arms and dragged him over to Irene. 

“Where’s my bow?” she asked, slowly turning around. She could see nothing but sand all around her, occasionally spotted with rocks or cacti. Damien shook his head, lay Athos back on the sand, and stopped to catch his breath. 

“I did not see where it flew. I am sorry.” Irene stared at him as if he spoke an unfamiliar dialect until he suddenly grabbed her and shook her roughly. 

“Stay with me, Irene. We need to get back to town before we die of thirst. Both you and Athos need tending. I need you to help me carry him.”

“Alright.” Damien helped her take one side of Athos and waited to see that she could bear his partial weight before he quickly transferred himself over to Athos’ empty side. Damien looked around to get his bearings then began to guide them towards the desert exit. Irene could remember little of the travel there. Her head beat a steady rhythm against her skull and there was a burning in her foot she could not explain. Athos’ head lolled against her shoulder as they limped across the border of the Al Maagik outskirts and came within sight of the guarding Maagiknight. 

“Fetch the other guards and assist my companions!” ordered Damien as they finally stopped near the glittering pockets of Al Maagik gold. Irene dropped to the ground in relief and the young Dark Sultan set Athos down next to her as carefully as possible. Then he knelt at her feet and picked up her left one. The simple movement sent needles of pain through her and she gasped before everything went dark. 

The next moment, she awoke in a black-clothed bed in an equally dark room. Torches crackled at intervals on the stone walls and a faint, scented smoke floated into the air. She sat up and winced, doubling over and wrapping her arms about her midriff. Squinting through moistened eyes, she saw she realized she was not alone. There was another bed a short distance away and a chair in between them. Athos was sitting up in the that bed and Damien was in the chair, the two of them quietly talking. 

“What happened?” she croaked and licked at her cracked lips. Her throat felt like it was on fire and her foot was not in a much better state. “Where am I?”

“Irene, you’re awake!” Athos quickly shuffled out of bed and Damien made to stop him, but the Alchemist brushed him off. He was steady on his feet, but looked odd in a blue vest and puffy, airy white pants. He hopped easily on to the end of her bed, avoiding touching the lumps that showed where her feet were under the thin cover. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” She slowly straightened and unwrapped her arms. Damien stood, turned the chair towards her bed and pulled it up next to it before sitting back down. 

“You are in my palace,” said Damien, smiling slightly. His skin was very lightly tanned and the circles under his eyes did not stand out quite as much as before. “I had the Maagiknights carry both of you here for treatment. It has been almost two days since we brought you here.” 

“I’ve been awake for a day, but they won’t let me leave here yet,” interrupted Athos. “They want to make sure that my wounds don’t get infected.” Here he pointed at his shoulders. Irene glanced down at his mostly bare chest, noting the bandages bound around his upper torso and the fresh ones covering his arms. 

“If you would also sit still long enough for them to heal, it would help you to leave sooner,” remarked Damien. Athos stuck his tongue out at him childishly then turned back to Irene. 

“Damien told me what happened, you know. Thank you for saving our lives.” Irene shook her head. 

“It is hard to fulfill a deal when one of the parties dies. I was only protecting my guild. It would not do for it to appear that I’d been a lax party member and let you be killed in order to escape our arrangement.” 

“Be that as it may,” said Athos sceptically, “You have my thanks. If you like, we can just say that this is enough repayment for those potions and antidotes and bombs. Owing you my life must surely count for more than a few hunting supplies.” 

“If that is how you want to settle it.” She extended her hand and he shook it with a wry smile. 

“Perhaps our paths will cross again on better terms.” She grunted, but said nothing to encourage or discourage the idea.


	5. Pride's Stubborn Chill

Several weeks passed and Athos had seen neither hide nor hair of Irene since their not-so-triumphant return to Castele. They had agreed to ride camels together back to the kingdom with Damien’s well wishes and packs burdened with fresh provisions, and as soon as they had arrived in the outskirts she and Margot had parted ways with him. Now, standing before his chemical station and watching yet another Superior Hi-Health potion come to a simmer in its flask, he found his concentration failing. The fumes of the place were distracting in their haziness and Flamel’s experiments seemed more obnoxious than usual. 

“Beaker, I’m going out!” he called as he donned his lifted off his goggles, removed the completed potion, and extinguished the burner. The bird turned its head to squawk at him then returned its gaze to the blackboard full of Flamel’s scribblings. Athos shook his head as he left the Alchemy wing, waving briefly to the library’s receptionist as he passed. When he took the time to consider it, having learned more from the Master’s talking pet bird than from the Master himself was disgustingly ridiculous. As the headmaster for the Castele Academy and in such close contact with the very youth he used to be part of, he could barely stomach the idea of more young hopefuls or even those of more experienced Lives coming to attempt a new trial studying under the current Master. Although titled Master himself, Athos had had no students. None would come to him because of one important difference between the two men: Athos had not conquered the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone, Flamel’s greatest creation, and this put him at a significant disadvantage. 

Stepping outside, he nodded to the Paladin guarding the library door and headed down the steps leading away from the castle and into the central square as busy as it ever was, full of locals and chatty tourists. He kicked a rock in front of him, guiding it towards the Artisans’ District. So focused was he on this small, mundane task, he hardly noticed that he was forcing people to step aside from his path lest he walk into them. 

“Watch where you’re going, Alchemist!” shouted a Miner rolling along a wheelbarrow of ore as Athos walked past. He ignored her and pressed on until he reached East Castele’s open, grassy fields, tiny mazelike copse of trees, and the Castele Copper mines. His pebble now lost among the tiny green stems, he looked up at where he stood next to the School of Magicians. Two young students were there on benches, listening to the pink-haired young woman at the front by the blackboard as she instructed them. He watched her impress them by forming a ball of fire in her hand with the focusing help of her staff and he felt the first dregs of curiousity stir within in him like they hadn’t in a very long time. Perhaps he had reached his pinnacle as an Alchemist; perhaps it was time to try a new Life. Besides, there was no royal proclamation that stated one could not return to a previous Life, although it was frowned upon as most Lives preferred to keep their pupils within their ranks rather than to deal with constant swapping as the young indulged in whimsical flights of fancy rather than serious, lifelong decisions. 

Pulling his orange Sol Flask from his pocket, the heat from the fire elements fused within the glass warming his hand, he stared at the tool of his Life with thoughtful consideration. Was he ready to put it away, set it on a shelf, forget ever using it for the sake of learning anew? Was he satisfied with how this Life had gone for him? He flipped the flask end for end in his hand with practiced ease, tucked his other hand in his pocket, and continued his walk along the path. Just south of the Magicians was the leader of the Hunters and Athos allowed a small smile as he contemplated the little wooden house. A woof startled him out of his reverie and he stumbled and fell when a dog headbutted him then proceeded to climb into his lap and lick his face. 

“Lucky, get away from that Alchemist!” Fern stomped over, expression one of cold lividity. She caught the dog’s scruff and pulled him away. 

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, turning back to Athos just as he got to his feet. 

“I was walking and your dog greeted me. Are all Hunters so ridiculously defensive?” These were clearly the wrong words as Fern’s eyes narrowed sharply and Athos found himself looking down the shaft of a rapidly notched arrow. He had not even noticed her reach for her bow. He backed up a step, hands raised in a gesture of peace. 

“Leave and never darken my land again,” she ordered, following him with the armed weapon as he continued to back away, trying to follow the path without turning away from her. He left him with little doubt that she would shoot him in the back like any other dangerous beast courtesy of her animosity. Quick to insult and quick to react, Hunters were known for their silence and secret letality, but lacked in certain social skills. When Athos felt far enough away, he finally turned away and marched back to his rooms above the school to compose himself. He sat on his bed, his hands trembling, and gripped his flask tighter to try and stop it. He was certain about one thing: so long as Fern was the only Master Hunter available, he would never attempt that Life. He did not think his heart would tolerate her dangerous nature. After a few moments of gathering himself, he left to return to the Alchemy lab and continue filling orders as likely as not, Flamel had filled none. 

***

Irene growled and tugged her off-white Frigid Armour tighter around her as the winds around Mt. Snowpeak’s Summit tried to rip it from her body. Margot was tucked down the front of her, wedged between the wool-coated mail and her own skin. The black cat had buried herself halfway between her chest and stomach and was purring the whole while, revelling in their shared warmth. She vaguely regretted bringing the little creature up here where she could easily be swept away, but leaving her behind did not feel right. It was night; the Bounty Clerk and the Paladins stationed here were likely taking shelter in the Royal Chalet. The beasts were sleeping. She crept by the long-necked, blue feathered Snow Runners curled up on the ice and Margot gave a muffled yowl, wiggling to be let free. 

“Stop Margot,” Irene squeezed the feline against her chest to still her, but she just kept twisting. They stumbled to the swaying wooden bridge and Irene let the cat slide out the bottom of her Frigid Armour into the snow. 

“If your paws freeze, you brought it on yourself princess.” With her hands freed, Irene unshouldered her bow and plucked the string to test it. The mountain summit, cold and generally unwelcoming save for the hardiest adventurers, was likely the most lonely place in Reveria. The bridge creaked and groaned beneath her boots and Margot picked her way along, digging her claws into every board and slowing them both down. Irene attempted to snatch her up again when the animal finally arrived at the other side, but the cat dodged her and swiped her paw at the furry glove with an irate hiss. 

“Fine, let the wind take you. I don’t have time to waste on you if I want to kill that beast.” Irene lifted an arm to guard her face against the gusting snow. Strafing against the wind rather than facing the full brunt of it, they zigzagged along the icy path, dodging the glassy Iced Jellyfish and their electrified tentacles. The path’s end led into a clearing and Irene squinted against the icy cold that burned her eyes to try and detect movement. There was a known Snow Leopard in the area whose pelt would make an excellent Bounty back in Castele, a tidy sum to feed them both and keep them with a roof over their heads for another week. She notched an arrow and crept forward, the rough bottoms of her boots keeping her from slipping. Margot’s tail was fluffed out anxiously and she growled in her throat as she struggled to keep up. The path was clear, unblocked by the beast, and Irene frowned in disappointment and confusion. It was odd that the creature was not here guarding its territory, but the weather was not particularly conducive to an effective hunt for neither man nor beast so it was not worrying. She carried on further, the snow now piling higher in the shelter of the mountain’s tall peak where the Napdragon nested. Even the blue, hostile Glaciowls were out of sight and Irene paused, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with suspicion. 

Margot suddenly yowled and began digging into a snow drift and Irene shushed her violently. She approached to draw her away from the drift, but stopped upon arriving next to her and stared. A half-frozen Glaciowl’s corpse stared at them lifelessly, beak open in a silenced screech. Margot, a puffed out ball of black fluff, backed away, hissing at the dead monster and Irene tightened her grip on her bow, lifting to aim stupidly into the wind. There was something big up here and she meant to find out what it was. The wind’s roar was loud here and she crept towards its source, the large mound in the middle of the clearing at the mountain’s base. Margot refused to follow, stopping at the clearing’s edge with an angry hiss and futilely swiping at the air. Irene removed her arrow, shouldered her bow, and drew her dagger instead. The wind would only sweep away her arrows and she would never make a hit in the current weather. Clenching her jaw, she approached the monster and stabbed it in the back. 

It rose too quickly for her to predict, taking her with it. With infuriated roars, the creature spun around and around, trying to reach her, but she dared not let go of her dagger to make other stab lest she be thrown off the mountain by its sheer force and speed. Yet she had to do something before her hands became too numb to grip any longer. She took hold of one of the spikes along the beast’s spine and withdrew her dagger. It reared violently and she fell hard against the ice, rolling blindly out from under its huge, stomping feet. It spun, sweeping its tail over the ground and blowing her back first into a tree’s roots. She lay there stunned, staring up at the blue-skinned monster standing over her on two legs with roots of sharp and crooked silver teeth bared down at her: Silverfang, the mountain’s biggest Bounty and most dangerous threat. A tooth from this creature would feed any Life member for a month or more! However, now this thing was about to feed on her and it would make little difference how much its teeth were worth as they crushed her bones and tore her to pieces. She had a good look at the slippery ropes of saliva coating each tooth before it suddenly roared in pain, deafening her, and spun away to chase after something. Irene pushed herself up on her unsteady arms and used to the tree to pull herself up, watching as tiny Margot darted and leapt over and around Silverfang’s large, sharp-toed feet and swiping at its ankles. She circled around at a hopping limp, dagger held between her teeth and bow in hand once more to take aim at the rear of the monster’s skull with the wind at her back and her long hair trying to block her vision. She fired, it ducked with another roar as the arrow shot clear over it, and the air around her became a bit colder. She had forgotten it could breath ice. That was likely how it had stopped the Glaciowls, despite their protective feathers. No armour was absolutely impermeable after all. She reached for another arrow and froze as it spun again to face her and charged. 

Taking the dagger from her mouth, she swung wildly at its face and made contact, its blood splashing against her face and front and freezing to her skin, colder than the snow and air itself. Blinded, she staggered back, unaware of Silverfang spinning away from her again until she was struck hard in the ribs by its tail and was bouncing down the side of Mt. Snowpeak’s Summit until she just as suddenly stopped. Not dead, but everything burned with pain as she lay there facedown in the cold powder. As dregs of strength returned, she reached out with her hand that still clutched her dagger and found the edge of her precipice, narrow and rounded off at the tip and really barely enough space for her. Her neck hurt, her face stung like it had been scraped along the rocky mountain facade, and her right leg sent lancing bolts of pain any time it even shifted. Adrenaline kept her hands glued around either of her weapons. She could no longer hear neither Silverfang nor Margot above her and bit back tears. She had led them to their deaths and no one would know they were ever here.


	6. (Un)Acceptance

Irene stared up at the cloudless blue sky, the same colour as ice, and rested her head back against the chilly mountainside. Two days had passed. The fleecy interior and exterior of her armour had warded off the threat of the hypothermia thus far, but she dared not remove any of it to check whether frostbite had set in on her limbs. She kept her dagger in her lap to keep it from freezing to the ground, unwilling to have no weapons should a rogue Glaciowl or Silverwing come to make a meal out of her. She was not ready to die yet. 

Her bow rendered useless due to both wind and inability to make more arrows or collect the ones she shot, she had cut the string and used it to bind arrows around her leg in a brace. Trying to stand, however, was something she dared not attempt just yet. Still staring skyward, she rummaged in her frozen pack, picking out shards of broken glass and tossing them off the precipice until she came across one of her few frosted, half-wilted healweeds tainted with potion mix from the exploded phials. She ate it without hesitation, playing her regular game of chance. It was bitter and harsh on her throat, burning all the way down and forcing her double over with tears streaming from her eyes. She clapped a hand to her mouth to stubbornly keep the gag reflex from forcing her to cough it up and swallowed hard, gasping for air. She slowly sat up again, tipping her head all the way back to look up the cliff face she had slid down. 

Silverfang’s roars had long since died away. She was unaware whether it had moved on to another point on Mt. Snowpeak’s summit or was simply asleep. It was too loud to miss otherwise. She could only hope that Margot, that stubborn princess of a feline, had escaped the beast preferably intact. Though as to how she would descend the mountain was another story. While it was true that the cat had accompanied her throughout much of Reveria and was an excellent fighting companion, she was still small enough to be easy prey for any number of dangerous monsters. Irene lowered her chin to her chest and closed her eyes to quell the sudden dizzy spell that overtook her. She wanted to curl up in a ball, arms wrapped tight around herself for warmth, but she needed to be armed. She kept her hands in her lap with the dagger and tried to rest. 

***

Meanwhile in Castele, Athos was making delivery rounds to the various Masters and the General store. Pushing the loaded wheelbarrow was tricky; the wheel wobbled on its one bolt and while it grew lighter with every delivery, keeping it balanced was the trial. Some of the orders were delicate and would have been safer if hand delivered, but Athos had done this many times by now and knew how to control his cart. That is except when small felines launch themselves at his chest after jumping upon the small crates of tinkling phials and almost causing him to tip the whole thing. 

“What in Lunares--?” The beast miauled pitiably and began to slide down his front, paws too weak to cling. Athos set down the wheelbarrow and braced it underneath like he would a small child. It was black with a white muzzle, but its fur was crusted with something dark and brittle and appeared to be missing in long strips. Its ears twitched, both bright red and looking painfully swollen from the middle to the base on the inside and darker from middle to tips. He frowned and turned and looked around, biting his lip unassuredly. Leaving the cat was not an option. If it was a stray, it was desperate. If it was a pet, someone had either lost it and was terrified or someone had given it a rough time and needed to be disciplined. He shielded the cat as he was jostled by the crowd and stepped in between the wheelbarrow’s arms, sitting gingerly on the edge. He had no way to contact Flamel and he dared not leave his delivery where any manner of accident could happen. The cat weakly purred against his chest and as much as Athos wanted to pet it, he was not sure where would be the best spot so as to cause the least amount of pain. 

“Where did you come from?” He looked around once more and his eyes widened. 

“Fizz! Fizz, over here!” He yelled and waved one arm haphazardly to catch the attention of blue-haired young woman pushing a wheelbarrow much like his own. She turned, her long green coat over her pale yellow dress swishing. She waved back and approached, smiling. 

“Athos, how are you? Still working with Flamel?” A former student of Flamel’s and Expert Alchemist, Fizz was the owner of a stall in the Artisans’ district where she sold her self-made creations and Castele’s self-proclaimed matchmaker for star-crossed lovers. She had never quite mastered potion-making, which left her unable to move further in her training, but her accessories were her pride and highly sought after by many.

“Yes, I am, but I do not have time to chat.” Fizz looked down and gasped, horrified. 

“Oh the poor creature! Where did you find it?” she asked, reluctantly reaching out to carefully touch its ears. 

“It barely leapt into my arms. I need to take it to the alchemy lab so I might treat it. Could you please make my rounds? You surely still remember them from your time doing it?” Fizz flicked him on the nose. 

“Go on, you soft heart. I’ll take care of this cart of yours and you can have mine.” Athos had not noticed that the one she had been pushing was empty. He smiled gratefully and slowly passed her the cat to hold so he could shed his coat and make a nest within the wheelbarrow. She then set the cat amongst the cloth where it immediately settled limply on its side, panting desperately. 

“Thank you Fizz!” he called back as he began to forcefully manoeuver his way through the crowd. “I will bring it back later!” 

His apologies fell on deaf ears as people around him cursed his haste. He did not turn around and was as careful as he could muster on the cobblestone streets, trying to not bump and toss around the weakening animal. 

“Hold on little one,” he begged, pushing the wheelbarrow up the slight incline to the door of the Library. He scooped the animal out in its coat bundle and the Paladin guard, seeing his hurrying gait, opened the door for him. Athos barely gave him a nod in thanks before rushing ahead into the lab. 

“Flamel, where is your latest apprentice since you cannot seem to do your job?!” Athos froze in the doorway, staring at the angered Master Hunter waving her dagger about in front of a stern-faced, green-hair-smoking Flamel, who had set down his flasks for once and was focused on something other than crazy experiments. 

“Fern, he is not here. I sent him to make the deliveries. If you have an issue or an order, you can come back later.” 

“I am here to report his trepassing to you, you ridiculous buffoon. Keep your apprentices on a tighter leash and off of my property! I will not be responsible if they get shot with an arrow by crossing my training area.” Flamel glared at her through his tiny, round spectacles and Athos was startled to see that perhaps the Master Alchemist was not as distracted and ignorant to the world around him as he had thought. Perhaps genius truly was the closest partner to madness after all. 

“Fern, tell him yourself. And Hunters are supposed to be the most observant of the Reveria’s fighters.” Fern spun on her heels to face him and Athos swallowed hard, feeling the sweat beading of his forehead not only because of the heat. No wonder Irene had been nothing more than a ball of nerves with this intense woman for a Master. 

“Since you seem to have heard everything, I suggest you do not cross my land again, understood?” she warned. 

“Yes--” Athos squeaked then cleared his throat to regain his real voice. “Yes, Master Fern.” She nodded, sufficiently satisfied with her threat and began to leave when the cat in his arms gave a weak miaul. She glanced down at it and froze, her face an impassive mask. 

“Where did you find that cat?” she asked quietly. 

“I-It jumped into my arms,” he replied, tightening his arms about it unconsciously, “in the Artisans’ District.” Flamel approached, wiped his glasses on his somewhat stained, orange cravat, and leaned in to examine the pet. He hummed and hawwed, his movements careful and gentle from years of handling fragile compounds. 

“Set her on the desk, Athos,” he said standing upright, his voice grim. “We shall see what can be done.” Surprisingly, Fern remained as well, keeping her distance aloofly, but observing everything. Athos set the cat down on the desk in the bundle of his coat and stepped back as Flamel became as absorbed in treating her as he would his personal studies. He tsked, fingering the eartips with a sour look. 

“Athos, I need you to bring me your ingredient knife. I know yours is cleaner. Have some potion ready and a cloth or bandage,” Flamel ordered calmly, eyes never leaving the cat. Athos hurried to gather the items and offered the Master his knife handle first. 

“What are you going to do?” he asked nervously. Flamel looked up at him, frowning. 

“This animal has been horribly frostbitten. I have to removed the dead tissue to save her if I can.” 

“What about a few drops of a sleep draught?” Athos offered, his slightly wide with panic. Flamel shook his head. 

“As weak as she is, it cannot be risked. She will likely not be able to fight or respond to what I am doing. I doubt she will feel this.” With a steady hand, the Master rested the knife against the ugly dark part of the one ear and quickly cut it away, pinching the fresh wound with his fingers to staunch the blood. The cat stirred, meowing, and tried to lift its head, but it was too weak. 

“Potion, now!” Athos daubed the cloth he held with some of the green liquid and Flamel swapped his fingers with the cloth. A few drops of red blossomed on the cloth, but the potion quickly sealed the wound. Between the two of them, they treated the long scratches on her side with a cloth soaked in potion then carefully flipped her over to repeat the steps with her other side. As the animal rested, Flamel set down the knife and nodded to himself, arms folded over his front. 

“It will be up to her now to recover. I have done what I can.” They had wrapped the severed ear tips in another cloth to be disposed later. 

“Master--” Athos began then stopped when Flamel looked at him with a brow raised. He did not have the words to express his shock over the Alchemist’s swift and direct action in contrast to his normally scattered self. Flamel offered an understanding smile. 

“I know when it is time to be serious, Athos, but I also know how to enjoy my whims,” he said, winking. “Have no fears, I will return to my experiments as soon as I have a moment’s peace.” He turned to Fern, who had remained through the entire process. 

“Is there something you yet need?” 

“That cat belongs to one of my apprentices,” she stated grimly. “I believe her name is Margot.” Athos turned his shocked look on the Hunter. 

“Irene’s cat?” he asked. Fern nodded then sighed, looking down at the floor. 

“Irene left the city several days ago without leaving an itinerary in her typical foolish way. If her cat returned in such a state and alone at that, I have little hope for her survival.” At this, Athos got angry. His vision narrowed to a tunnel on this coldhearted Master. 

“How can you just heartlessly abandon one of your apprentices?!” he demanded. Fern refused to look at him and addressed Flamel. 

“I would ask that you keep me informed about the cat,” she said. Flamel nodded and she left without a backward glance. Athos bit his lip and resisted speaking until he was certain she had left. Then he grabbed his hat and smacked it against the table angrily. 

“How can that sorry excuse for a Coyote be so careless with a Reverian’s life?” 

“There is no need for that Athos,” said Flamel sternly. “She is a Master and although you are as well, that does not mean I will tolerate your badmouthing her. You do not understand the difficulty it is to have apprentices and to make such decisions. You have no right to judge.” Sufficiently cowed, Athos let his chin fall against his chest, the rage draining out of him. He was never one to harbor anger for long periods. He looked up again when he felt a hand grip his shoulder. Flamel was in front of him, his eyes bagged with tiredness and scruffy with stubble along his chin. 

“Athos, I am sorry for your friend,” he said solemnly. 

“We were not really friends,” mumbled Athos. “We barely knew one another.” 

“Be that as it may, the loss of any apprentice is a terrible waste and all Masters feel it. I have lost apprentices before you myself and we grow attached to all of them like our own children. For Fern to make the decision not to seek out her apprentice, it takes a lot of experience and wisdom. I know that this does not help your grief, but when you take on students one day, you will understand.” Flamel released him and quietly returned to his worktable, but no explosions accompanied his arrival and Athos was grateful. 

He checked Margot, saw that she was still breathing in slow, sleepy pulses, put on his hat, and left the lab. He could stand being there another moment, too filled with a rabid need to move to want to remain. His feet carried him back out to East Castele and he stood in front of Fern’s small wooden house, hands on his hips and glaring at it. Something burned in his throat, something bilious and hateful, and he did not know what to do with himself or it. He pounded on the door and waited. When no one answered, he hit harder, his knuckles smarting from the abuse. 

“Fern, open up!” he hollered at the resisting wood. 

“Funny how you seem to think yelling at an empty house will help you,” said a cold voice behind him and Athos turned to face them. Fern was there behind him, her dog seated next to her, panting stupidly. His fists clenched. 

“I thought I told you never to trepass again,” she reminded, glaring at him. 

“Why are you giving up on her so easily? Are you glad to be rid of an apprentice? You were never very forthcoming with her from what I saw,” he remarked snidely, celebrating inside as her cool disposition dissolved into anger.

“You question our interactions from one observed moment?” she snapped. “How presumptuous of you, just like all you Crafting members. Go away.” 

“Answer me! Do your apprentices mean so little to you? Margot was frostbitten; the only place that could likely happen is on Mt. Snowpeak’s Summit. The least you could do is retrieve her body for her family’s sake if she were dead!”

“You seem to think that Hunters have something worth clinging to in our Lives,” she noted in a deadened voice. “You would be very wrong. Hunters do not keep ties, little Alchemist. We cannot afford to have them. Our Life is too risky for that and it is a sacrifice many of us have made willingly so as not to cause pain when we leave this world.” She strode to him, pushed him gently aside, and unlocked her door, the dog following her. 

“You would do best to try to forget Irene,” she said, a hint of sadness in her voice and her hand on the door knob. “There is nothing that can be done with the rumours of the monster Silverfang on the mountain summit. A Paladin unit will be sent up to deal with the threat, but it is nigh impossible that Irene will have lasted against that beast.” She looked at him with a sombre expression and Athos felt some of his anger drain out of him. 

“I say this not because I doubted the girl’s skill, but because I know the beast. A Hunter of her rank would not stand a chance. Please, boy, go home.” She entered her house with her furry companion and shut the door practically in his face. He stared at it for several moments before he began to walk away. At the edge of her property, he stopped and looked back. Fern was watching him through a window with one shutter open. 

“You’re wrong, you know that?” he said, loud enough to be certain she heard. “She is alive and I am going to climb that mountain.” He walked off, head held stubbornly high. Fern shook her head, closing her eyes and mouth pinched with grief, and turned away.


End file.
